Many Happy Returns
by newbluemoon
Summary: Bruce returns home on his birthday after a strange night patrolling and finds a large parcel waiting for him. What could be inside? ;D Written for KnightVSAnarchy Round 4. Contains: Slash- b/j ,dubcon,angst and swearing. NSFW. Please review.


**Prompt:** 'Birthday'  
**Disclaimer:** Not mine. Nu-uh. Everythin' up in here belongs to DC. Hell, _I _probably belong to DC.  
**Warnings:** Slash, dubcon, references to oral sex.

**Authors Notes: **This was written for round 4 of the KnightVSAnarchy challenge on LJ. It was exceedingly rushed and I didn't finish it properly, but I thought I better get it out there for the challenge. But hey, at least there's no fluff this time. XD Unbeta'd again. Sorry. D: I may revise this story at a later date and tell ya'll what happened in the smutty bit. ;D But until then, I hope you like it and please review! Also, go Team Knight! \o/

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A fairly pleasant 'ping' noise perforated the silence that existed in Bruce Wayne's shiny penthouse apartment and the handsome vigilante stepped out from the elevator, a frown line that was in danger of becoming permanent in the middle of his perfect forehead. He was dressed head to toe in what appeared to be cheap gym clothes- a clear sign that he'd just returned from a night patrolling the streets of the decaying city. The grey of the comfortable looking cotton seemed to be expanding, blending in with his turbulent mood. Today was his birthday, a day he hadn't enjoyed for a long, long time. It was painted with images of lost days spent alone, pushing remembrance of what had been ripped from his young fingers into his head. Drilling the blood splats and brain matter into the remains of his unstable mind year after year. It was always cold on his birthday. An icy wind whipping at his skin even when he was indoors, the residue of spectres and spirits he only _wished _would haunt him. And it was getting stronger now, more bitter than it was last year. He'd lost so much more since then.

And last year was bad enough. However, it did provide him with a suitable excuse for not throwing a party or not surrounding himself with gossiping savages that contributed to the ailments of his city. No-one was going to push him into sinking back to the drunken, foolish arsonist he appeared to be the year before and for that, he had silently thanked Ra's. It meant that he could spend one of his most empty days doing something useful, giving something back to the community who had robbed him of so much. So, he had ignored all of his elderly butler's protests and suggestions of 'having a good time' and had slinked off to the storage container he had moulded into his batcave as soon as he had a spare moment.

The batsuit was donned a lot quicker than usual as the young playboy practically shoved on the interconnecting panels without securing them properly, such was his desire to go out and _do something_. He needed to be out in the sub-zero, jaded city. Watching. It was almost like a nervous tic. An OCD. Though he'd never admit to that. He didn't particularly feel like _fighting_ anyone that evening, but he was compelled to be there just in case. Because maybe if he'd been stronger, quicker, smarter then there wouldn't be so much thick crimson coating his ebony armour. And that's why 'days off' just weren't an option. No matter how much Alfred would nag and scold him with an army of good intentions on his side, Bruce just couldn't, _wouldn't, _listen. There were things in this world far more important that his personal wellbeing and they were things he could have a slither of control over. There were things he could _prevent_ as long as he was there. And he spent every day wishing and regretting the times he wasn't there, he wasn't about to add to that cargo.

So he'd spent the majority of the barren day, or rather night, he called his birthday perched on top of diseased buildings and lurking in the shadows and cavities of what should've been a bustling metropolis. Waiting. And he'd heard hollers and screams and sirens ripping through the uneasy brief silences every half an hour or so, the festering maggots he tried so hard to fight coming like white water rapids through a bed of filth right at him. But he could swim. So he'd whipped up and swooped around, taking corners like they never existed as he hunted the sickly refuse that should've been thrown out years ago. But nothing was found. The screams were cutting off in broken noises like invisible cut throats and silent laughter cackled through the crisp air. The victims were left, shaking in terror, coated in piss and recoiling from his touch with all their possessions and clothing intact. Barely a scratch on any of them. It was weird. And when Bruce Wayne thought something was weird, you could pretty much guarantee that it was _weird. _

He'd just been about ready to retire for the night, finding no criminals to release his fury upon, no drugs dealers to apprehend. Not even a prostitute he could escort out from under sallow lights and off the grimy streets into even more lurid places they called 'home'. He'd landed, cape fluttering like withering tentacles, in another forgotten ally near where he'd parked the batpod, and felt like all the rank air he'd sucked in had been yanked out of him with a devious, rusted hook. His tired eyes that held the colour of sea water you couldn't find in a place like Gotham widened in absolute disbelief. Even through the solid darkness, he could make out the shape of an enormous parcel- larger than his bulky form and appearing a _lot_ wider in girth. It was wrapped in shiny amethyst paper and was topped off with an emerald ribbon and alarm bells went off in Bruce's brain immediately. But he was in Arkham, right? Bruce dumped him there only the week before and he'd had no reports of unruly or aggressive behaviour at all. _Oh._

Bruce could've slapped his head in self-annoyance had he not been so nervous about the contents of the box. How could he have been so ignorant? The Joker doesn't _behave. _Ever. But he hadn't even thought to question what seemed to be a blessing, instead throwing himself into his duty with a venomous determination. He had tried to tell himself that he always brought down the law to such an extent and that it had _nothing_ to do with the time of year or with filling the destitue space inside of him. But now the tactics he should've seen coming had snuck past Bruce and landed him in a potentially hazardous situation. Carefully withdrawing a batarang, he aimed it at the box so that if it _was_ rigged with a bomb, he'd have space to escape before being caught in the blast. When the tiny metal object hit the side and bounced off, Bruce winced for a second, but he discovered there was no whirring, no ticking or clicking. Just silence. Cautiously, he approached the giant gift, his arms tense and prepared for an attack. Around the side was a large card shaped like a gift tag and it was covered with a messy scrawl. Bruce squinted as his eyes moved across the writing, trying to decipher it.

_Dear Batsy_

_Happy Birthday!!!_

_I hope you like my gift._

_Looooove always and always and aaalways._

_Joker. xxx_

Bruce felt the liquid that brought life to his body run with an icy edge. It wasn't possible! There was no way, _no way, _he could know. Bruce had been so careful. He'd adopted three different personas in his struggle to keep his identity a secret. It had played absolute havoc with his mind, making him question his own thoughts and beliefs. He often found himself frightened of the power of the other two personae within him. Whether they were in his control or vis-versa. He'd struggled so hard to stop something like this from happening, but there it was. In black and white. Actually, it was red. Such a red that Bruce didn't even want to begin to analyse the 'ink'. He couldn't think on this now, there was still the matter of the package and Bruce had a job to do. The Joker couldn't know his identity, but if he did, Bruce would have to be prepared. Starting with uncovering the contents of the present.

He pulled out another batarang and pressed the steel edge of the 'wing' into the side of the box, ripping through the garish paper, wishing the purple could melt away and fade into something else, wishing it wasn't true. The paper fell to the bile drenched floor, revealing an extremely large cardboard container with flaps taller than Bruce and which were facing him and secured by a substantial amount of duct tape down the centre. With his throat contracting and his heart beating a little faster than what was accepted as 'normal', Bruce took his weapon and jammed it into the tape and tore down until the flaps flew open revealing an..._interesting _sight. Inside, tied up and secured with what appeared to be _suspenders_ were five, no six, men, three of which Bruce recognised instantly as local small time mob members. The faces of the other three did not immediately ring any bells inside Bruce's mind, but given their look of hatred at the sight of the Batman, he didn't exactly have many contradicting thoughts. These men were _criminals. _And the Joker had caught and bound them for the Batman as what, a favour? A gift? He shuddered, trying not to show his alarm to the gagged, scowling and shaking men.

That was an hour ago. Since then he'd alerted Gordon and his men to the location of the men, leaving them to deal with the mess as they constantly left him to deal with theirs, but not before ripping of fthe 'gift tag'. And he'd returned to his penthouse confused, nervous and somewhere in his mind _relieved. _If the Joker _knew_, then he wasn't trapped. It wouldn't be like having a confident or a friend, not like Alfred. Not like Rachel. But it would be someone. And Bruce knew something inside him craved acknowledgment, not _praise_ or anything like that. But something yearned to have someone who _knew_, who could understand. It was ridiculous to think that person would be the Joker, but if that's what he'd been given, he reluctantly knew the more fragile parts of him would want to cling on to it.

However, Bruce knew just how dangerous it was. The man had burned his city into a pile of ash whilst searching for Batman's identity, and now he potentially had it, Bruce couldn't know what was coming next. He had to think of his safety, of Lucius', of Alfred's. He felt an icepick of terror stab him in the spine, leaving his throat dry and his eyes glowering. He swallowed. How long had he known? How long had he been planning to do whatever it was he was going to do? More importantly, how would he _react? _The billionaire knew just how much hope and aspirations the Joker put into Batman. He wasn't blind to the fact that the psychopath's world revolved around him, every decision, every breath devoted to the Batman. It made bile and acid collide in his stomach, bubbling up in strained excitement and vicious hate. So, how would the Joker take the news that the reason for everything he did, hell maybe even his reason for _living_, was an airheaded, bimbo playboy. Swallowing again, Bruce made his way to his bedroom, intending to use the secret entrance to his base for some further research. He had to be ready for an attack.

Stepping through the door, his cobalt eyes widened in horror for the second time that night as he was presented with the image of another gift box. It was smaller in size, but once again draped in the gaudy decorations that personified his twisted enemy. He stopped still, every muscle and nerve in his body ceasing their actions, his breathing quitting all at the same time as his heartbeat accelerated. There was no arguing now. The Joker _knew. _It was written in stone. His life had instantly been sucked into a vacuum as deep as a black hole and he knew he wasn't getting it back unharmed or unchanged. There was no way _that _was a coincidence. And how had the Joker or his goons gotten in his home to put that there? Hell, how had he gotten _that _into his house. It wasn't exactly a small, subtle girft that could be sneaked in. A part of his twitching mind made plans to review his security systems, but mostly he was desperately thinking of ways to escape the inevitable. Reasons to give, excuses to blurt out, lies to tell.

Nothing came. There would be no escaping this. He felt like an innocent man on death roe, the same wild desperation flowing through his shallow veins in pure terror. His body feeling like he'd been unknowingly poisoned with arsenic as he slept. He was drowning in the thick air. Clawing at the surface he'd already reached but finding no relief. It was terrifying. And yet, that placid calmness of hope still remained, hiding under the other more urgent emotions, smiling at their absurdity. Mocking him of his fear. And it was from this place that he drew the courage to move forward as he willed his usually sturdy legs to walk.

Shaking slightly, he brought his hand up to the bow, unwravelling it cautiously though something told him there would be no bomb, just like the last time, and ripped through the bruise coloured paper. The box was positioned just how the previous one was, only there was no masking tape securing the flaps, they were just closed. Nothing was holding whatever lay beyond that thin cardboard back, just like nothing would ever really be safe for him again. Now, there was nothing holding the Joker back. Summoning a strength that was normally reserved for playing the hero, he launched himself forward before he could second guess the action and ripped the cardboard open.

"SURPRISE!!!" the voice of the abomination squealed in undisguised glee before pouncing out of his den, his arms in the air. Bruce stumbelled back in shock and slight fear, trying achingly hard not to let it register on his face. And failing miserabley. The murderer stepped forward, a maniacal grin coating his already stretched, heavily made-up face. He was wearing his usual purple, dusty suit, though the overcoat and jacket had been removed, folded and placed nicely in the back of the container, Bruce vaguely noticed. The Joker watched his eyes with interest, his own emerald ones following them as they moved to the box, sparkling with an amalgam of emotions ranging from excitement to curiosity.

"It got hot in there", he explained gesturing to his removed clothing, "And I was stuck in that godforsaken stuffy thing for _hours!! _The lengths a man will go to for the one he loves, huh?" The obnoxious giggling took him over and Bruce instantly felt his fear subside, being replaced with pure. Fucking. Anger. With a snarl erupting from the pit of his stomach where he knew Batman lurked, he launched himself onto the laughing psychopath until he was lying on the carpeted floor, Bruce's hands pushing down on his bony, broad shoulders.

"Why are you here?" he growled, his using his bat voice without a second thought that it might expose him. He was already bare and naked in front of his enemy. It made no difference. A look of mock-hurt graced the painted face and he gasped dramatically.  
"Darling! Do you really think I wouldn't be here for your _birthday?" _he squeaked "What kind of monster do you think I am?" His nasal voice broke off into giggles once more, earning him a knee in his stomach. Bruce watched with satisfaction as the breath was knocked out of him, wondering how much it would take to make the action permanent.

"How?" he demanded, not really wanting to know, but needing something to say before his temper won the battle for control over his body. The madman grinned, but it didn't reach those knowing eyes.  
"Oh, it was easy, Bat" he sniggered, "Maybe too easy. Y'know for a detective, you're really not that good at _detecting. _Did you really not notice _why_ I oh so suddenly quit popping people off to get to your identity?" His voice was slathered with a vile smugness worse than when Alfred said 'I told you so'. And it only served to stoke Bruce's inflamed anger.  
"But that's not important now, dear. We have to celebrate your big day!" The unmasked vigilante sneered and pushed harder against the clown's shoulders but didn't say anything. Oh, his brain was searching for something, anything to say, but all the words melted away. He was vulnerable right now, and he knew it. The only thing he could think to do was to restrain the fiercely dangerous man, who he noticed absently was still blabbering.

"And wait 'til you see what I've got you! Not the other present, your _reaaal _one. You did find the other, didn't you pumpkin? Of course you did, you're my Bat!" he stated with an almost affectionately proud smile. A rumbling noise played in the playboy's firm chest but he couldn't bring himself to do anything about it. He shoved himself up, realising he was getting nowhere. He should call the cops. But what if the Joker told them? But why would he? He _wouldn't, _there was no way he could give up 'his Bat' that easily. But he had to be planning something. When was he _not?_ The thoughts flew through his exhausted brain, leaving him staring down at the sprawled out clown with abstract emotions floating on the surface of his sapphire eyes.

"You need to leave" the billionaire ordered like it was something he actually wanted. Didn't he? He couldn't be completely sure either way, but he couldn't arrest the clown how he was and he couldn't call the cops, not wanting to risk his identity being revealed to _more_ people, even if he didn't really believe the clown would expose him. The psychopath pulled himself off the floor and dusted his clothes off with a devious grin.  
"Now why would I want to do that?" the clown smirked, stalking over to the tense vigilante. "You haven't even opened your present yet." He was right next to Bruce now, their chests almost touching. Bruce could smell the rank stench of death flowing off him in waves. His eyes were blazing with a poisonous gleam and the playboy wanted nothing more than to knock it out of them, but his arms were all but glued to his sides, an unseen magnetic pull holding them there. He felt trapped, caged in his own home. A prisoner of his foe and the look of knowledge he held in his intelligent orbs.

"Now", the Joker purred "How about you let me wish you a happy birthday, hmm?" And in that strained heartbeat, the jaws of death closed in. Literally. Bruce found himself staring at pasty, ghostly skin and vomit coloured hair as he felt his lips being savagely attacked by the crimson scarred ones of his arch enemy. He couldn't move, couldn't feel anything except a numb confusion, sprinkled with now familiar hints of a terror that he hadn't felt since he and his parents were mugged by one of the people his father strived to save.

The Joker continued to ravage his mouth, oblivious or uncaring to Bruce's fear. It was likely he was feeding off of it, acting like the parasite he certainly was. Always feeding off Batman, draining him. And the way he kissed him was no different. The ruined lips tugged and bit at Bruce's, wanting them to open, becoming frustrated when they didn't comply, but didn't cease his actions. He was relishing in the fact that he had Batsy helpless and stunned before him, unable to even flinch at his touch. He needed more.

Bruce felt the instant cool air tickle his wet lips when the Joker pulled back, hoping whatever it was had finished, his eyes never having closed. Not even to blink. He hoped that the tears pooling in his eyes produced by the stinging weren't perceived as actual tears, but before the life swept back through his muscles, he felt a peculiar throbbing in his neck. The Joker withdrew his hand, revealing an empty needle to Bruce's shocked eyes. The playboy felt a buzzing warmth spread through his stunned body and his knees were buckling as his eyes drooped. Deceptively strong arms caught him as he fell, and humiliation roared in each burning cell that wasn't yet under the influence of the Joker's drug.

"Atatatat, I've got you", the Joker whispered, a most certainly insincere loving edge to his voice. Bruce wanted to scowl, to glare and scream at the vile man holding him in his arms. But he just felt his face tingle under the affects of whatever the Joker had given him. He felt himself being dragged, the villain not wholly able to support his weight, towards his pristine bed and fell a rush of sickness pass over him as nausea descended when he was promptly pushed back. It was like vertigo.

"Feel sick?" the scarred one questioned, sympathy coating his voice. It might've been pleasant had it not been so obviously faked."Don't worry, dearest, it will pass." He plonked himself down on the bed next to where the paralysed vigilante lay, removing his gloves as he did so.

"Now", he began, adopting the tone of a story teller, something he had a lot of practise at, "You may have noticed that you're feeling a little, ah, shall we say worse for wear?" He smiled softly, humour and anticipation caused his body to shake as he placed a hand on Bruce's head, flattening his hair down. All the billionaire could do was stare into the eyes that kept him awake at night, wanting them gone. Wanting _him_ gone. Wishing it was just another dream. Another nightmare. But the solid touch relayed the fact that this was all too real and Bruce was very _much_ at the mercy of the deranged man he placed in prison time and time again. He was _fucked._

"But don't you worry about a thing, princess. It's just a teensy tiny paralytic drug. It won't even be in your system for long. I wouldn't hurt you, sweetums" Bruce felt the terror swipe in his hear once more as the maniac straddled his paralysed body and tried with determination to ignore the whispy excitement swirling in his belly. The Joker looked down at Bruce, his gaze smoldering, sweltering.  
"Well, not too badly, anyway" he giggled sadistically, "Where would fun be without a little pain, hmmm?" He accentuated his point with a simultaneous thrust of the hips and a long scratch down Bruce's arm. The billionaire was repulsed as the knowledge that while he couldn't move, he most certainly could _feel _registered in his all too aware body.

The Joker smirked at his distress and dismounted the playboy, his hands working at the grey sweatpants he wore. Bruce's thought processes halted. No. That was not going to happen. The Joker, although he was a mass murdering psychotic, was not a rapist. Sexual attraction didn't exist in people like him. Kissing was one thing but...No. It was impossible. But tough hands were now pulling at his pants, tearing them off his ankles. He watched with horror and shame as the Joker's eyes widened in surpise and hunger as he saw that Bruce had neglected to wear any underwear. He'd just gotten back from his crusade for Christ's sake! He hadn't exactly intended on an escaped mental patient jumping him, drugging him and then promptly stripping him.

"My, my. And here I thought it was _your _birthday, darling, not mine", he purred devilishly as he brought a naked hand down to caress around Bruce's bare groin, stirring something latent in Bruce that the billionaire never needed to be awoken. "Oh Brucey, you shouldn't have". The giggles felt like they were gutting knives stabbing at Bruce, each new chuckle another puncture and he wanted to kick the disgusting creature off him, to get him away because this couldn't be happening!

"Honey," these endearments were getting really fucking annoying, "I know you're probably freaking out right now, but relaaaaaaax. This is your birthday present, Batsykins! Enjoy it!" The psychotic man moved over Bruce once more and leant forward, his seaweed curls falling over his face, the ends tickling Bruce's hyperaware skin. The paralysed man could feel the ghastly breath on him and 'nervous' just didn't cut it anymore. He wanted it over and done with. This suspense was like balancing on one foot along a line of coke. It was knife egde deadly. He wanted it gone, wanted him to hurry up. To stop this pernicious treatment. He'd been tortured before. It was never as excruciating as this venomously peculiar behaviour.

He saw the Joker's eyes glimmer with admiration before the lips that had previously violently attacked his unresponsive mouth were on him again, kissing just as brutally as they had before. The greasepaint was slippy and smeared all over Bruce's mouth and chin, so unlike a woman's lipstick. So unlike a woman's kiss. _Anyone's _kiss. He was bitten and gnawed at, never slow, never soft. But oh so aberrantly sensual. Bruce fought it and fought it, but there was a heat pooling deep within him and he could not ignore it. It was spreading feverishly, like a wild fire that no amount of water could put out. Internally he cursed and shrieked and felt repulsed by his responses, knowing it was only a matter of time before the Joker noticed that his manhood wasn't lying as soft as it was a minute ago.

As if hearing his thoughts, the Joker pulled back, a mocking laughter escaping his torn mouth.  
"Poor Batman", he taunted as he dragged makeup-stained fingers along Bruce's covered torso, eyeing the man with raw desire. "You didn't even know how much you wanted this, did you?" The vigilante blinked and blinked, hoping the madman would disappear. _Pleasegopleasegopleasego. _He couldn't face this. Not_ that_. The Joker chuckled gravely.

"But _I_ did. I _do." _His words were phrased in a way that suggested Bruce should know exactly what he was talking about. Bruce wished he didn't. "You knew it would happen, Brucey baby. Somewhere in that fucked up little bat-brain of yours, you _knew." _His hand moved behind him cupping Bruce's awakening arousal, much to the vigilante's absolute horror. The hand felt warm and so fucking right where it was, holding Bruce with the confidence and familiarity that should belong only to intimate lovers. When it started to move up and down, Bruce choked on a moan that had no where to go. The Joker clambered off him, withdrawing the torturous instrument from his cock and the playboy thought it was over, avoiding anything inside him that screamed in what tasted like protesting disappointment. But the clown has simply placed himself at the foot of the bed, between Bruce's spread legs.

"If I knew when _my _birthday was, I'd have done something about it then. But silly little facts like that slipped from me a looong time ago, and it wasn't such a bother to wait for yours." The Joker leant forward once more, his stale breath brushing against Bruce's dick. "I'd do anything for my Batsy." He licked his lips, mouth hovering over the head of his dick and the young man below him wondered if he'd stop him even if he could. He wasn't so sure. Then a warm, wet slippery muscles flicked out and lapped at the head of Bruce's cock, humming at the taste of pre-come and Bruce's muscles fought to move, not to get away but to push closer and Bruce _knew. _He could never stop what was coming. Even if he was in complete control of his body, it would be impossible to tell the maniac not to touch him with that vile mouth, to push him away and kick his perverted fucking ass. Everything that was logical and _right_ would tell him to fight and claw and bite with a frenzied anger, but when they were together, when they fought, there was never anything logical about it. It was all instinct and emotion as raw as a fresh wound and that was what had driven the Joker here. That was what caused Bruce to want this and for that want to triumph over any hatred he had for the man. And the vigilante knew the Joker could see the fear turning into desire in his blue eyes as that grin returned, washing across his ghoulish face with triumphant glee.

"I won't take it from you, Bruce" he murmured, his voice surprisingly husky. "You'll give it me. Well, when you can move again, of course" He added with a sheepish grin. For a nervous second, Bruce thought he meant that he was going to leave him in that state, and wouldn't that be just like the Joker? '_But he needs it, too' _a voice somewhere in the reservoir of Bruce's brain offered and it was probably the most true thing he'd thought of that night. Probably the most insightful thing he'd thought about the Joker _ever._

Seeing Bruce's worry the Joker frowned before closing a fist around Bruce's dick, causing the vigilante to go red in the face as he attempted to moan, the sound lost in his throat when he couldn't open his lips.  
"Oh, hushhushhush" the psychopath whispered. "It's okay, sweetheart". He pressed a loving kiss to the head of Bruce's cock, sending sparks through the stone-still body, hotter than a burning coal fire. When that vindictive tongue lapped at his length, Bruce could've cried with joy ,had he been able to, but his attention was distracted by a muscle in his leg that quickly spasmed, alerting him that his movement was slowly returning. He felt his fist obey his command to curl, twisting into the cool sheets.

The Joker's gaze darkened in all consuming lust as he stared into Bruce's murky eyes, his mouth pressed up against the erect member as he breathed.  
"I'm here, pumpkin." He whispered with another torturously long lick up Bruce's shaft. And the playboy's pulse was going absolutely erratic, feeling lost in desperation. He needed that ruined mouth on him and if the Joker didn't hurry up, his ability to move would return and he'd _make _him finish the job. The villain sucked the head of the pulsing cock into his mouth, much to their mutual satisfaction and hummed around it before pulling up, moving down and staring directly at Bruce.

"Mr J's here and you don't have to worry about a thing." he whispered, kissing Bruce's pounding balls and a groan finally broke it's way through. "Nonono. I'm going to make it _all _better..."

**A/N:** I forgot to say, I'm currently taking Batman/Joker prompts and requests, so if you have an idea, email me and I'll see what I can do. :3 Thanks for reading and please review!


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